


my back's to the wall

by Pomfry



Series: or let me love you [1]
Category: Servamp (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I named the sister, Listen their parents were horrible, Lots of Thinking, Protective Siblings, The soulmate aspect isn't the focus though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 05:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14805464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pomfry/pseuds/Pomfry
Summary: She wonders, with a sinking, sickening feeling, if their parents ever loved them. She doesn't think they did. What kind of parents who loved their children did this to them? All the same, she protects her brother as much as she possibly can.(In which a sister raises her brother, struggles, and loves him with all her heart.)





	my back's to the wall

**Author's Note:**

> thiiiis turned out longer than I thought it would, haha. I meant for it to be about 5,000. 6,000 later....
> 
> Welp. I'm becoming a person with no idea how to do word count. Fuck my life.
> 
> Lucky for me it's summer.

Sakuya has black eyes, void eyes, eyes that look at you and suck you in, truths, lies, and all. He's born to a family of liars, malicious smiles on his parents' faces as they imagine what they can do with him. He's born screaming, crying his eyes out, like he _knows_ he's destined to a hellish life.  
  
His sister takes one look at him, green hair a tuft on his head and face peaceful as he sleeps in her arms, and promises, voice a whisper so their parents don't hear, that she'll always protect him, that their parents will never bring him any harm. Her arms tighten around him, eyes hooded as she glances up at their parents, and she shakes and shakes as their faces turn gleeful.  
  
His sister has warm brown eyes. She thinks that her soulmate will have to wait, to learn to love Sakuya too. She would never leave her brother to the mercy of her parents. Her bruises ache but she refuses to let go all the same.  
  
(The same moment Sakuya came shrieking into the world, miles away, Tsubaki's eyes turn green.)

  
  
\--

  
  
Her name is Moufida. Her parents don't take care of her and her brother the way they should, the way other parents do, so she takes it upon herself to do it. They wanted to name him Rin. They wanted to make him cold and severe, like they wanted to make her profitable and usable to others. Moufida refuses to call her brother that, this giggling baby boy who likes to tug at her hair, and fought for months to call him Sakuya. Sakuya means make, build, create. Something _good._  
  
Moufida fought for months and earned bruises and cuts but it was worth it, to look at her brother and smile and call him Sakuya, not Rin.  
  
She stays at the hospital for the days it takes for Sakuya to come home. They try to get her to leave, but Sakuya is her baby brother, maybe her one anchor in this world of lies, and she refuses to lose him.

Mother stays in bed, not even touching her son, so Moufida takes it upon herself to take care of him. She makes sure he doesn't scream because Mother will get angry and gently feeds him. Moufida is only six, with her hair down to her shoulders, but she knows that their town is rotten to the core. They don't care that liars are there, that Moufida shows up to school with bruises on her arms or bandages on her skin.  
  
Sakuya grabs her finger, grip strong despite his age, and Moufida leans in close, smiling at her baby brother, and thinks that he's the only good thing her parents brought into this world. "I'll protect you," she whispers, and it's a vow and a desperate wish all at once. "They won't touch you."  
  
Sakuya opens his black eyes and stares at her. She laughs at him, at his confusion, ignorant to the way her parents are looking at them. "Moufida," Father says, imperious and demanding, "give me the boy."  
  
Moufida clutches her baby brother close. "Father," she says, pleading, "let me hold him a bit longer." She doesn't want him to disappear, to be given away for money. She wouldn't put it past them to do so.  
  
"Moufida," Mother spits, her eyes blazing from the hospital bed. "Give your father the boy."  
  
She wants to run away, to take Sakuya and leave this life behind. She doesn't want her brother to grow up in a household where murmurs are passed from ear to ear, where the parents can fly into a rage and can hurt them at any moment. She doesn't want him to grow up like that. "Mother," she manages past the lump in her throat.  
  
She wants to protect him.  
  
_"Moufida."_

Father reaches out his arms and Moufida hands her brother over, Sakuya shrieking as his father handles him wrong. Her heart tears at the sound - even now, she knows she never wants to hear her brother cry, never wants to see his tears. Father looks at Sakuya as though he's a pest, as though he's mud underneath his shoe, and fury runs down her spine. How dare he look at Sakuya that way? How _dare_ he look at his son like he's worthless?  
  
Moufida is only six, but she knows that's wrong.  
  
She clenches her skirt with one trembling hand. She was born into a family of liars, and false truths come easy to her, spring to her tongue because of it. She never wants to lie to Sakuya, but she might have to.  
  
She hopes she doesn't.

  
\--

 

Sakuya is a fussy baby at times. He squirms and cries in the middle of the night, high pitched and mournful until he gets what he wants. Moufida places his crib in her room, right next to her bed, and when he refuses to go to sleep, she curls up around him, rubbing his back and humming softly until he does. He needs to be fed two times a night, and she finds she can’t go to sleep until she’s absolutely sure he is as well.

She’s tired and doesn’t have enough money, most of the time, to buy Sakuya new clothes or a swing. Babies are expensive, and she skips breakfast, skips lunch so she can buy Sakuya things the books says he needs. Her stomach hurts when she starts not eating. Her friends at school are concerned for the first few weeks, but she waves them off with a grin. She’s fine. She is. She just needs to keep Sakuya healthy.

She wonders if this is what single mothers feel like. She’s six, with chubby cheeks and thin arms; she knows this isn’t normal. She knows that the fact she’s so exhausted all the time, that she knows more about taking care of babies than anyone else in her year isn’t normal. She knows that her knowing more about her brother than their parents isn’t accepted. But what else can she do? Mother and Father are gone for months at a time and she gets money in the mail, just enough that they don’t die and the bills get paid automatically. Sometimes she has to not even eat for a few days because the money doesn’t come in when she needs it.

Her stomach rumbles as the lights from the tv screen play on the walls. She sighs, running a hand through her hair. She needs the yen, but she’s broke. The money hasn’t come and she hasn’t eaten in about four days. Sakuya is almost out of formula, and, to her, that’s the bigger problem. Sakuya can’t go hungry, not like her.

Sakuya scrunches up his nose, face turning red, and Moufida smiles tiredly, poking his belly. He’s a chubby baby and it’s adorable; she doesn’t think of the fact that he may not be, soon, if she can’t buy more formula. Her feet dangle off the couch as Sakuya blinks at her, confused. He’s missing his pacifier, and she assumes that’s why he was upset. She doesn’t close her eyes as she reaches to the side table and grabs one, putting it in his mouth. It’s midnight and, thankfully, a weekend. If she had to go to school tomorrow she would pass out in class.

Sakuya sucks on the pacifier furiously, tears shining in his black eyes, and Moufida laughs a little, leaning back against the cushions. Her back aches from holding twelve pounds constantly, and she only wants to sleep. She can’t, not with Sakuya in her arms. If she did she would drop him, and that - that can’t happen. Last time their parents were here - and it was for a day - they dropped him and she spent the rest of the day in tears with him, searching online if he would be okay. They left after he started to wail.

Moufida knows it’s bad to hate your parents. She knows that it’s cruel to wish they were gone. But she can’t help it. She despises them for leaving them behind, for being liars, for not sending in enough money for them to live. She wants them out of their lives, but she knows she can’t survive without them, can’t take care of her brother without them. They’re essential to her keeping Sakuya close to her, as saddening as it is, but -

But that doesn’t mean she considers them family. And that is a victory she never tells them. They aren’t her family. Sakuya is and that’s it. She only hopes that’s enough to get her through her life until she can take Sakuya away from them.

 

\--

  
  
Father leaves often, although Moufida doesn't know the specifics why - _business,_ Mother tells her, a glint in her eyes that makes Moufida back away, tuck Sakuya behind her - Mother goes with him. So Moufida is the one to take care of Sakuya, the one who feeds him and changes him, the one who drops him off at the daycare when she has to go to school and picks him up when she goes home. Moufida is the one to see his first steps and his first smile, the one who hears his first laugh, bright and happy and completely innocent.  
  
Moufida's name is his first word.  
  
"Mou," Sakuya laughs, grabbing at her hair one night as they watch cartoons. "Mou-Mou!"  
  
Moufida blinks back tears and pulls her baby brother close, grinning like a madman. "Thats right," she says, voice trembling, "my name is Mou. I'm your big sister, and I won't let anyone hurt you."  
  
"Mou!"  
  
She leans back, booping his nose. Sakuya's eyes widen and she assumes his pupils turn to look at her finger. "I love you, Sakuya. I love you."  
  
She thinks that her brother understands, from the way he grins at her, his little teeth white.

 

\--

 

Moufida is whispered about, in her school. They see her holding Sakuya, laughing quietly as he babbles in her ear, and call her a mother. They see her frantically going on forums and call her a future bride.  
  
They see her come to school with bruises under her eyes and scratches on her arms and turn their heads, avert their eyes. They see her doing expenses, budgeting because her parents didn't leave enough money for her to buy everything Sakuya needs and groceries and laugh, calling her a math nerd.  
  
They whisper about her name, that she'll certainly be useful to someone, someday, if the way she continues caring for her brother stretches on. They whisper she'll never graduate, because her grades are so terrible. They whisper that her name is such a shame, that she's such a disappointment.  
  
Moufida doesn't care what they think. The only people whose opinion she cares about is Sakuya and her soulmate. That's it.

(Sakuya adores her and sometimes she thinks that’s the only thing keeping her head above water. He’s started to call her Mama until she corrected him. She will never admit that she’d teared up right in front of him.)  
  
Sakuya is one now, trying to stand and walk as she beckons him to her a meter away. He says, "Mou-Mou," as he puts one foot in front of the other, eyes narrowed in concentration, and he falls before he can reach her. She laughs, scooping him up and setting him on her waist before he can screw up his nose and start to wail.  
  
"Good job," she says, cheerful, and rocks from side to side. "You did such a good job, Sakuya!"  
  
Sakuya claps his hands together, grinning. "Mou-Mou! Hungry!"  
  
"I know," she soothes, heading to the kitchen. "I'm gonna get you some food."  
  
"Carrot," Sakuya says, petulant, and tugs at her hair. It's gotten long enough it reaches her shoulder blades, and she needs to get it trimmed, but she never seems to have enough money despite her careful budgeting. She winces all the same, gently releasing her hair from her brother's grip.  
  
"Sakuya," she says, giving him a scolding look. Sakuya wilts underneath her gaze, bottom lip poking out.

"Sorry," he mumbles, not looking her in the eyes, and she sighs, setting him down in his high chair.  
  
"It's okay," she replies, rummaging through the cupboard. She needs to go to the store soon; they're out of milk and going to run out of everything at the rate Sakuya eats. Maybe she can not eat lunch. "We don't have any carrots, Sakuya, sorry. I should've gone to the store sooner."  
  
Sakuya's face goes red as he kicks his feet. "Carrot," he shrieks. "Carrot! Carrot!"  
  
Moufida is only seven, but she's had over a year of experience dealing with an upset Sakuya. "I will go get carrots tomorrow. But how do you feel about strawberries?"  
  
Sakuya's face lights up and he squirms in his chair. "Strawberry!"  
  
Moufida laughs, getting a knife and swiftly cutting up three strawberries, dumping them in a bowl and putting it in front of her brother. "Here you go. Strawberries galore."  
  
Sakuya immediately grabs one, scowling in the way only a one year old can when he misses his mouth. Moufida smiles and takes a bite of strawberry herself, watching her baby brother fondly. Already, she can't imagine her life without him, this giggling boy with spring hair and void eyes. He's the one thing her parents ever did right.  
  
The door slams open.  
  
Moufida jumps, eyes darting to Sakuya, who stares at her in surprise, a small piece of strawberry still held in his little hand. She swallows nervously, picking him up and setting him down behind some clothes, taking care to hide his - distinctive hair. "Stay here and don't make any noise," she whispers, and Sakuya's already so smart, because he nods and curls up. She grabs a bat and creeps into the hallway, heart pounding in her ears. If someone wants to come into her home when Sakuya is here, they'll going to have to face hell.  
  
She isn't sure if she's relieved when she sees it's her parents or not.

Mother is clearly drunk, swaying on her feet with her eyes unfocused. Moufida can smell the alcohol from here and it makes her stomach twist. Mother is never easy to deal with when she's drunk; last time, she wanted to take Sakuya to see her friends. Moufida knows her friends aren't good news, so she'd hidden Sakuya away in her room, huddling close against him in fear of their mother bursting in and taking Sakuya away.  
  
Father, on the other hand, is angry, eyes narrowed in cold calculation even as Mother presses a sloppy kiss against the edges of his lips. "Moufida," he says, tone icy, "where is Sakuya?" He isn't the only one who's been drinking.  
  
Moufida's heart skips a beat. They want Sakuya. They want her little brother. She straightens her back. "Why do you want him," she asks coldly.  
  
Father snarls at her, throwing a hand out and hitting Mother on the cheek. He doesn't care, not even when Mother falls to the floor. "I want him," he growls, "because I promised a friend he can see him."  
  
A friend.  
  
Father is drunk, Mother is moaning on the floor, and Sakuya is hidden underneath clothes. Moufida is seven, half way to eight, and her arms shake as she holds the bat in her hands. Her parents are horrible, and everyone else in the building is too. They all _lie._  
  
"I'm not giving you Sakuya," she says, bold and unwavering despite the terror growing in her chest. She would rather die than let them take Sakuya. She's the one raising him. Not them, not _ever them._  
  
"Moufida!" Father howls, stepping forward, and his brown eyes, the same color as Mother's hair, are blazing. She always thought that two people as terrible as them deserve each other. "My friend is a photographer. He will only take pictures."  
  
No.  
  
Moufida thinks of her brother, giggling as he walks unsteadily to her. She thinks of him calling her Mou-Mou every day. She thinks of living in an empty house.

"No," she says, voice high and furious, and swings her bat. Father is drunk, he's drank far more alcohol than he should, and Mother is unconscious. Sakuya is deathly quiet in the laundry room, and she feels as though time stops when the bat connects to Father's temple. He drops, right next to Mother, and the green hair Moufida and Sakuya got from him lays on the floor behind his head like a halo.  
  
Time speeds up, like wind suddenly rushing past her ears. The bat falls to the floor, just like her parents, and she gasps in a breath, backing away with wide eyes. She just hit her father and now he's on the floor, eyes closed. He is going to kill her when he wakes up and take Sakuya, take him to some shady photographer, and Moufida _refuses_ to let that happen, _refuses_ to let someone touch her brother.  
  
"Mou-Mou?"  
  
Sakuya. She has to take Sakuya and get out of here. She has to protect him.  
  
"Sakuya," she says, and her voice is terrifyingly blank. "We need to leave."  
  
"Mou-Mou, stuck."  
  
Moufida turns on her heel and heads to the laundry room, gently moving the clothes off her brother. "Sakuya," she says, impossibly quiet, "do not look at the floor when we get to the hallway, okay? Do not."  
  
He gives her a confused look but holds his arms up regardless. "Up," he demands, and she does what he tells her too, cradling him on her hip and tucking his face onto her shoulder. "Mou-Mou..."  
  
"Everything will okay," she assures him, and she doesn't believe herself. Nothing will be okay, at least until her parents leave. She doesn't even know why they were here. "Don't worry, I'll take care of everything."  
  
She doesn't know how she'll do that. Maybe Father has some money in his pockets, but she's - reluctant to let Sakuya go, to say the least. She's afraid he'll disappear if she takes her eyes off him. She's terrified  Father will wake up and rip her brother from her arms. But she needs the yen.

Sakuya shifts as she hesitates by the bodies. "Sakuya," she says, running a hand through her hair, "just - don't look, okay? Can you do that?" Sakuya nods, blank eyes trained on her shoulder as she kneels and riffles through their parents' pockets. There's no money. They must have spent it all on the alcohol. She sighs and gets to her feet. So no money and she still has to feed Sakuya.  
  
She rests her forehead on the cool wood of the door. What is she going to do? Sakuya will scream if he goes without food, and it's almost four. She doesn't have the yen she needs, her parents will _murder_ her when they come to, and - and she's only seven. She's mature because she _has_ to be, because she has to take care of her brother and her parents are liars and frauds. She knows how to take care of a baby, how to budget, how to make dinner without hurting herself, and how to panic silently and without waking her brother up because the money hasn't come and she needs to pay the daycare.  She doesn't know how to live in the real world, in the adult world.  
  
"Mou-Mou?" Sakuya tugs at her hair, bottom lip quivering. "You okay?"  
  
Sakuya doesn't like it when she's upset. He's never liked it. It's why she learned how to cry without getting someone's attention. She gives him a weak smile, curling around him and rubbing comforting circles on his back. "I'm okay," she manages, and it's a struggle not to sob. "It's okay. Do you want to go to the park?"  
  
He stares at her for a moment, eyes oddly focused, and nods once. "Park," he says simply.  
  
Moufida opens the door and steps out, closing it neatly behind her. Her father will wake up soon, will be enraged and go looking for her, maybe, but he may also stumble to bed and she can go home. Maybe, maybe.

She blows out a frustrated breath and goes down the stairs. Maybe she'll be able to buy Sakuya some food while she's out. Maybe. She spares a glance at her brother, a faint smile on her face he clings to her shoulder. Some bread shouldn't cost too much, right? It really depends where she buys it.  
  
"Mou-Mou," Sakuya says, clumsy fingers patting her face. "Strawberries."  
  
Moufida smiles. "That's right, you didn't finish your strawberries, did you?" Sakuya shakes his head, fly away green hair bouncing with every step she takes. "You can get some when we get home, okay? But right now, we're going to play at the park." She shifts him higher on her hip. "And it's going to be fun."  
  
She steps on the final floor, arms feeling heavy from carrying a one year old down all those stairs, and heads for the front door. The sun is still high in the sky, a warm blanket on her skin, and Sakuya plops his head down on her shoulder, watching the people passing by with interest. Moufida tugs his thumb out of his mouth and turns to the right. There's a park nearby for the apartments and their kids, and it's small with only a few swings, but Sakuya adores it. Moufida, personally, is usually too tired from taking care of her brother to even _contemplate_ playing, but she always pushes him on the swings and plays in the sandbox with him.  Her stomach clenches, reminding her she hasn't eaten anything today, and Moufida breathes through it with the ease of practice. Sakuya and his health comes first before anything else, no matter what. It doesn't matter if she's dead on her feet, if moving is like being weighed down by concrete. Sakuya comes first, and that is a fact of life.  
  
"Swing!" Sakuya shrieks once he sees them, squirming wildly. "Swing swing!"  
  
"Yes, Sakuya," she giggles, obediently walking towards the swings. "You'll swing, I promise."

She places him in one, carefully putting his legs into the holes and begins to push him, hoping, a bit weakly, that she'll be able to protect him if their parents come looking.  
  
"Mou-Mou?"  
  
Moufida jolts, looking down at her brother's hair blankly. "Yes?"  
  
"You okay?'  
  
"I'm fine," she sighs, running a hand through her hair. "Just - Mom and Dad make me nervous."  
  
"Mou-Mou will protect me," Sakuya says, and it's a defiance, a declaration, and Moufida smiles helplessly. Her brother is always far, far too faithful in her than he should be.  
  
"I'll certainly try my best," she says, a hint of a laugh in her tone, and gives him a gentle push, watching as his legs jerk and his arms wave about, his curl bouncing with every shriek. "What do you want for dinner?"  
  
"Chicken nuggets!" Sakuya yells, his smile bright. "Chicken nuggets!"  
  
Moufida can feel her little pocket wallet ache. Chicken nuggets probably cost more than she can afford, but -  
  
If she skips eating for the next few days, then _maybe_  
  
"Okay," she says, and Sakuya cheers, throwing his pudgy fists into the air in victory. "Calm down. Dinner isn't for a few hours."  
  
Sakuya throws her a pout, but she is resilient. She's the one who raised him, _is_ raising him. She will not fail against the puppy eyes. "You will get your chicken nuggets," she says, unmoved.  
  
Sakuya scowls. "Fine," he says sourly, and Moufida swallows the grin that threatens to show. She loves her brother.

  
\--

  
  
When they come home, Sakuya in her arms and swishing the toy he had gotten with his meal happily, their parents are gone. They left money on the table, but it seems like they left to go lick their wounds. Someplace that _isn't_ their apartment. Moufida can feel her knees go weak. Thank kami.  
  
Sakuya goes on about something or another in her ear, and Moufida makes noises in the back of her throat to show she's listening. It's past his bedtime, past _her_ bedtime. They're both covered in dust, sweat, and Sakuya with tears she cried when he fell. They both need a bath, but Moufida is dead on her feet. She _can't_ do this tonight.  
  
"Sakuya." Her brother looks up at her. "We're going to have a bath in the morning, okay?"  
  
"Okay." He looks back down at the plushy in his hand. "Can I bring Bear into bed with me?"  
  
"Yes," she says, breathing out through her nose. "Let's get ready for bed."  
  
"Okay."  
  
It takes a minute, but Moufida manages to find a onesie for Sakuya. She'll need to do laundry soon.  
  
_Fun,_ she thinks sarcastically, and slips Sakuya's feet into the outfit. _Just what I need. More expenses._  
  
Sakuya giggles madly as she tickles his stomach. "Nooo!" he shouts, laughing so hard his cheeks turn red. Moufida laughs and sweeps him into her arms, marching into their room and collapsing on her bed.  
  
"Good night," she says, eyes already closing. "Sweet dreams."  
  
"Sweet dreams, Mou-Mou," Sakuya says, and Moufida slips into sleep.  
  
And she opens her eyes to her room, comforter feeling like a stone beneath her as she sits up. Something is wrong, she knows, but she can’t put her finger on it until the lack of warmth hits her.  
  
There’s a taste in the air, Moufida thinks, and shivers, rubbing her arms. There’s a taste in the air, and it’s foul, it’s frightening, and Sakuya isn’t with her. There’s no laughing toddler by her side, no tug at her hand, and she jolts in panic, looking around desperately. She’s in their apartment, in the place she wouldn’t quite call home, but it’s close enough for her that she doesn’t have a problem saying it is to Sakuya. It is, after all, the only place she knows.  
  
She breathes out and it comes out white, in smoke, and she stares in fascination. The last time she saw that happen was when the heater broke back in winter. She hadn’t had the money to fix it, and her parents hadn’t been homes in _weeks._ There’s wasn’t anything she could do until the manager came up and saw them bundled up in blankets and coats and called the mechanic.  
  
Moufida has never had a lot of fond memories of the cold, and those she does have involve Sakuya.  
  
Her home is flat and gray, colorless, and Moufida frowns at it. There should be yellow on the walls from when Sakuya got his hands on crayons when she was doing her homework last week. There should be red from when she did the same. There should be dents from when Father slammed her into the wall when Sakuya was asleep, from when Mother threw a bottle at Sakuya when he wouldn’t stop crying.  
  
There should be history, as bad as it is, but there’s – nothing. There’s nothing, and Moufida won’t admit that it bothers her more than it should. She’s alternatively despised and loved this place all her life, and she hates that it makes her nervous to see it different. She should be _happy,_ but she’s – well, she’s not.  
  
A cry, a bawl, and Moufida is moving before she realizes it, heading towards that siren call that she’s followed for the last two wonderful and tiring years of her life. She runs down the hallway and into the living room, already ready to bring her baby brother into her arms and soothe his upset, and when she reaches the place she spends most of her time in, there’s nothing.  
  
“What?” she murmurs. “He should be here, he should –“  
  
“Who are you?”  
  
Moufida turns around slowly, feeling like she’s in a horror movie her father loves to make her watch, and there stands Sakuya, a few years older, and his black eyes are staring at her in confusion. “What?” she says, heart in her throat and tears burning her eyes. How can Sakuya not know her? She’s his _sister,_ the one who’s _raised him,_ he should –  
  
He should _know her._  
  
“Who are you?” he repeats, and there’s no recognition in his gaze, only bewilderment. “How did you get in here? Father wouldn’t have let you in.”  
  
“I –“ and her knees are ready to collapse, her heartbeat is thundering in her ears, and – “I’m your sister, Sakuya.”  
  
He tilts his head, still as a marionette. “I don’t have a sister. And my name is Rin.”  
  
A sob tears out of her throat before she can stop it as she crumbles, palms landing on the frigid floor, and her tears freeze as they fall, little crystals bouncing off her hands. “Sakuya, I’m your _sister,”_  she says, and it’s a plea and a wish all in one. “I raised you. You call me Mou-Mou, I promise you do. I changed your diapers and taught you to walk and –“  
  
“I don’t have a sister,” he says again, and this time there’s no apology in his voice, only firmness, and Moufida’s heart stops. She’s dedicated her entire life for the past two years to her baby brother, to the one who deserves the entire world, and -  
  
He just cast aside her reason for living cast aside like trash, like it’s an idea he doesn’t like.  
  
“Sakuya,” she says hopelessly, and reaches out to try and – well, she doesn’t know. “Sakuya, please.”  
  
“My name is _Rin!”_ he yells, and the tell-tale thump of steps on the floor boards make Moufida curl up even more, heaving out gasps like it’s the last air she will have. She can’t face her father, not right now, not when she’s so vulnerable.  
  
“Rin,” comes the sound of her father’s deep voice, and Moufida doesn’t dare look up. “Who is she? Did you let her in?” There’s something dangerous in the words, something that makes Sakuya shift with uncertainty. Moufida is on her feet in an instant, shoving her brother – _he’s not your brother,_ a voice inside her whispers – and facing her father head on, arms braced in front of her face to block any incoming blows. Even if Sakuya doesn’t remember her, even if he doesn’t know her, she will always, _always_ protect him. That’s just – how she is.  
  
She loves her brother, adores him beyond she can even tell, and nothing will change that.

Father draws back his fist and Sakuya is hiding behind her, shaking, and she only has time to wonder how many times he had no one to stand in front of him to stop the hits.  
  
Too many times, she thinks, and bares her teeth as Father finally –  
  
“Mou-Mou!”  
  
Moufida jumps awake, breath catching in her throat at the familiar name. Sakuya is staring at her, those void eyes she loves so much looking at her in _recognition._  
  
Muffling a cry, she reaches out and tucks her baby brother’s had into the crook between her neck and her shoulder. “Sakuya,” she says, and she’s begging the world to just give her this, “am I your sister?”  
  
“Yes!” Sakuya pulls back and puts his hands on her cheeks. “Mou-Mou, you’re the bestest big sister in the _world!”_  
  
Moufida buries the laugh that threatens to burst from her lips at that. Sakuya has so much faith in her, far too much. “Thank you,” she says, and it comes out a tremor.  
  
The Sakuya of her dream, the Rin with cold eyes and fear in his actions, is exactly what she is _terrified_ what will happen to him if she disappears. Without her, Sakuya would be so different and she –  
  
Well. She doesn’t want that, not ever. Sakuya is _her_ brother, _her_ responsibility. Not their parents, distant as they are.  
  
Sakuya squirms until she lets go and carefully slides down the bed until his feet hit the floor. “Bath,” he says, and toddles off to do just that. Moufida drags herself up, arms feeling like lead, and shuffles her way after him, yawning into her elbow. She is _exhausted,_ but she doesn’t particularly want to have a drowned brother.

  
  
\--

 

Sakuya is four and Moufida is ten when he finally asks about soulmates, about why his eyes are black. 

  
“Mou-Mou,” he says, gaze trained on the screen of the TV. “Mou-Mou, what’s a soulmate?”  
  
Moufida pauses in her homework, twisting to look at him. His lips are turned down, his eyebrows pulled together, and his hand is straying towards his forever stray curl. “What do you mean?” she asks, slightly nervous. She’s never met her soulmate, not yet anyway.  
  
“Sayu and Yuki – the new one – met today and they’re soulmates. I don’t know what a soulmate is.”  
  
Moufida bites her lip, turning the question over in her head. Truth is, she doesn’t know either. Nobody has bothered to tell her. She isn't old enough to take the class for this. But she has seen a lot of interviews and shows on it, so –  
  
“A soulmate,” she says slowly, “is someone who compliments you in every way. You can be in love with them or not – that doesn’t matter. They aren’t a missing piece, they’re more a frame for a picture. You can be without it and still be fine, but you can still have them. Does that make sense?” She hopes it does, since it barely made sense to herself.  
  
“…Yeah,” he says with a nod. “It does. Thanks, Mou-Mou.”  
  
Moufida tries not to slump in relief. Thank kami. “Okay,” she says, and turns back to her homework, trying not to think of what had happened that day at school.  
  
_“Moufida, Moufida,”_ sneered her classmates. “ _Moufida, Moufida. How are you going to be profitable?”_  
  
Moufida blinks back the tears. She isn’t going to be _profitable_ to anyone. She’s ten, dammit, and her grades are exemplary. They should all be _learning_ from her.  
  
Maybe…maybe she should change her name.  
  
She scribbles down some kanji, listing names that she likes.  
  
_Yui, Momo, Katsumi, Haruno…_  
  
She pauses. Katsumi. That – sounds good, actually. It means to overcome, to win. Kat-su-mi. She grins. Katsumi. That will be her name. It’ll show her ability to win against her parents, to overcome the obstacles that have been placed in front of her. The exhaustion, the lack of money, the struggle of raising her brother when she herself is still only a child. The pain of having the parents they do.  
  
“Hey, Sakuya.”  
  
“Hm?” Sakuya blinks and turns to look at her.  
  
“What do you think of the name Katsumi?”  
  
“I like it,” Sakuya says, throwing her a bright grin as music plays from the speakers on the TV. He likes music, always has it playing whenever he can, and sings along. “It fits you.”  
  
Moufida laughs. “So do I. I’m thinking of changing my name to it.”  
  
“Why?” he asks, blinking curiously at her. “I think Moufida is okay.”  
  
Moufida sighs, pushing her chair away from the table and walking over to the couch, flopping down face first next to him. He pats her head, running his fingers through her hair. She shuffles closer until her head is in his lap. “I just don’t like my name. It means I’ll be useful to someone and I don’t want that.”  
  
“But – you are useful?” Sakuya sounds confused. “I don’t see what’s wrong with that. You pack my lunch and give me pencils and brush my hair. You’re useful.”  
  
Moufida laughs a little bitterly. Because of course Sakuya wouldn’t understand it, wouldn’t understand the implications. Her name says she’s _useful._ That she would be of use to someone. That isn’t something she _wants._

“Sakuya, that isn’t a good thing.” She tilts over so she’s staring him in the face. “I don’t want to be useful to anyone. Katsumi means that I win, that I overcome. That’s what I want my name to mean.”

He shrugs, careless and offhand. “It’s your name,” he says. “A boy in my class changes his every other day. I’ll still call you my sister, because that’s who you are.” With his bit of wisdom said, he turns his attention back to the TV, still petting her hair. Moufida stares up at him, a small smile twisting her lips.

Her brother is so smart, she thinks, and laughs, reaching up to tickle his stomach. Sakuya immediately squeals, scooting away as best he can with her head in his lap.

“Mou-Mou, no!”

“Mou-Mou, yes,” she counters, and tickles him some more.

(She goes up to the principle the next day after dropping Sakuya off at school, and tells him, head held high, that she wants to be called Katsumi.)

 

\--

 

Sakuya is seven and Katsumi thirteen when they starts coming home to yelling, screaming.

“Moufida!’ screeches the woman who has never been their mother. “Get me some more sake!”

Sakuya hides behind Katsumi's legs, looking up with scared eyes. “Mou-Mou?”

She rests her hand on his head, giving him a strained smile. “Go to our room,” she says, and it’s a reassurance and a question all in one. “I’ll be there soon. Just don’t come out no matter what, okay?”

Sakuya nods and darts off, running down the hallway and slamming the door shut behind him. She hopes he has enough common sense to hide.

“Moufida!”

Katsumi sighs and sets her bag down, ponytail slipping over her shoulder as she walks over to the kitchen. Father is at the table, counting the money he has obsessively - it’s not a lot, she notices dispassionately - and Mother is scrambling through the cabinets, her hair a mess.

Katsumi crosses her arms, thinking of the snack she was going to make for Sakuya today, and scowling at her parents harshly. “What are you doing here?”

Father glances up from where he’s counting money. “We need to recuperate,” he says, the ends of his words sharp. “So we came back."

“Moufida, where is the sake?” Mother falls upon her like a vulture on a corpse, and Katsumi tenses.

“It’s Katsumi,” she snaps. “And I threw it out. You hadn’t been homes in months and it expired. I didn’t want Sakuya trying to drink it.”

Mother wails as she goes back to throwing things out of the cabinets, and Father rises from his chair, his hands clenched into fists as he strides towards her. “What,” he rumbles, “did you say your name was?”

“Katsumi,” she replies, and it’s a challenge.

Father’s face darkens and his fists come up. Katsumi braces herself for the hit, arms automatically locking in front of her face, and then it comes.

It knocks her to the ground as she gasps in pain, her arms aching with the force of it, but then his hands curl around her hair and she’s yanked to her feet as his fist lands in her stomach. She coughs harshly, her stomach rebelling against the sudden pain, and twists to try and turn her stomach away. Mother is shaking in the background, shrieking about her alcohol, and then Father hits her in the face. Katsumi sees _stars._

Father lets her go and she drops, curling in on her stomach as he shouts above her. “You think you’re better than this family?” He kicks her once and she hacks and coughs and feels like she’s going to die. ‘You’re a liar like the rest of us!”

She is a liar, but she only lies for Sakuya’s benefit. She doesn’t lie like she breathes, doesn’t lie like i’s the only thing keeping her alive. She’s told her brother time and again that lying is wrong, that he should never lie.

Lying comes easily to her family. It’s like instinct, a reflex, and Katsumi has long since give up on resisting it. “I am,” she agrees, voice strangled,  and her father’s rage falters. “I am.” She lies to Sakuya when she says that everything will be okay when they have no money, she lites to him when their heating goes out and she doesn’t have the money to fix it. She lies to him saying that everything will be okay. She tells him that lying is wrong, and it _is._ But she lies far, far too often for honesty to be of any use to her. Sakuya hasn’t told a single lie in his life, and that - that is something she is proud of.

“But Sakuya,” she says, _“is.”_

Just like that, the fury is back, and his foot slams into her face. Blood fills her mouth as she goes flying, slamming into the couch. “That little boy isn’t anything,” her father snarls, and Katsumi stays silent. She knows the truth, knows that Sakuya is meant for more than what he has. Maybe it’s just the mother’s insistence in her - because she is his mother, she is the one who raised him, who takes him to school and makes him food - but she knows that Sakuya is going to get much more than she can give him.

‘Sakuya!” Her mother shrieks, and Sakuya doesn’t answer. Katsumi breathes a sigh of relief, tasting copper. He has enough common sense to stay away, to believe her little white lie about her being there soon. “Sakuya, baby, where are you? Mommy wants to know where the sake is!”

There hasn’t been any alcohol in this apartment in months. Katsumi dumped it all the day after they left. She lied when she said it expired.

Her lips lift into a trembling smile. Pain is everywhere, and she hasn’t experienced this in months, but at least Sakuya isn’t experiencing it. At least Sakuya is safe.

“Sakuya!” her father thunders, and Katsumi prays that her brother is hiding. “Get over here!”

Slowly, hesitantly, little feet pad down the hallway, and Katsumi drags herself to her feet, determined to save her brother from the disaster that is their family. She falls, legs buckling beneath her. “Yes?” he asks, quivering, and his eyes flicker over to her, to where she’s on all fours on the floor, green hair a mess around her and her lips slick with blood. “Is there something you need, Father?”

“Where did you put the alcohol?”

Sakuya keeps his gaze on his feets, fingers playing with the edges of his shirt. “I - I don’t know,” he says honestly. Because he doesn’t know. “It just disappeared one day. I don’t know when.”

Katsumi’s name to win. It means to overcome. She needs to win again the pain, to overcome the agony of her beating, and get in front of her baby brother. She needs to protect him. But she can’t get herself to walk.

“Are you lying,” Mother asks, her hand reaching out to scratch his scalp. “If you are -”

“I’m not lying,” Sakuya says, loud, and automatically looks towards her for reassurance. Katsumi smiles back, grabbing thee edge of the couch to pull herself up. “I never lie.”

Father scoffs, waving a hand. “I don’t believe you,” he says dismissively, and takes a single step closer to him. Katsumi’s heart leaps into her throat.

“He never lies,” she says, finding her voice again. “I taught him that lying is bad. He never lies. So please - “ and she’s pleading and he hates it, but if gets Sakuya out safely - “just let him go to back to his room.”

Father rolls his eyes but lets Sakuya go, turning back to the table and tugging out the yen again. Katsumi keeps an eye on him as she carefully walks back to her room, shutting the door behind her and sinking to the floor.

Sakuya is at her side in an instant, hands fluttering around her. He doesn’t know what to do - her beatings usually aren’t this bad. Her nose is most certainly broken, and her stomach hurts something fierce, but she wraps her arm around Sakuya all the same, tugging him into her side.

“Mou-Mou, you’re really hurt,” he says, and he’s so quiet. “Why did they come back?”

“I don’t know,” she says, and tilts her head back until it hits the door. “Father probably got caught up in something he wasn’t supposed to. They’ll be gone soon, probably.” At least, she hopes they will be. They never stay for long, but then again when they do come home they’re not usually in the situation they are. They may stay for a while yet, which she dreads.

“Are you sure?” Sakuya’s question is muffled by her shirt, but she hears him just fine. “I don’t like you being beat up.”

“I’m sure,” she laughs, running a hand through his hair. He needs to get it cut soon - it’s getting long and she knows how he gets when it gets long. “Listen, everything will be okay? Have I ever been wrong about that?”

“No.”

“Exactly.” She tugs on his stray curl. “Now go get that encyclopedia for medical stuff.”

“The big one?” Sakuya wrinkles his nose. Katsumi can’t do it back like she usually does and her nose really hurts, actually. “But it’s so heavy.”

“I’m well aware it is,” she says dryly, and ruffles his hair. “That’s why I picked it. It’s full of knowledge.”

Sakuya rolls his eyes - he learned that from her - and gets up from his crouch to fetch it. Katsumi finally lets out the hiss she's been keeping in, her ribs cracking with the effort of breathing. She isn’t invincible in her brother’s eyes - that illusion has long since been shattering with the first hit from their father, but she prefers to have him not freaking out over her. He’s just a kid, after all.

(Something inside her whispers that she’s just a kid too, that she shouldn’t have to go through this. That’s she’s only twelve, that she shouldn’t be a mother. She suffocates it with the will she’s had her entire life. She needs to protect Sakuya and this is the best way to do it in this aspect.)

“Mou--Mou, I found it,” Sakuya says cheerfully, waddling into the room with the book in his hands. She takes it from him gratefully, flipping through the pages until she found “mending a broken nose.” She’ll deal with the ribs later, once Sakuya has gone to sleep. “Act quickly,” she reads. “When the break first occurs, breathe through your mouth and lean forward to reduce the amount of blood that drains into your throat. Use ice. Apply ice packs or cold compresses immediately after the injury, and then at least four times a day for the first 24 to 48 hours to reduce swelling.”

Sakuya is on his knees in front of her, his knuckles white. “You failed at step one,” he says, and she nods.

“That I did,” she answers, and bends her back to the floor anyway, taking in a breath through her mouth. “Do yo you have the ice?”

“Yeah.” He drags the cooler over. She bought it and filled it with ice last week and kept on filling it up again and again. Making ice is easy and free. “Do you need a bag?”

“No,” she says, although she probably does. “Just get me a rag.” A rag probably won’t cut it, but it’s not like she has any other choice. She can still hear Mother throwing things about, looking for the alcohol that hasn’t been here for months. She can hear Father counting the yen in his pockets. Getting a bag isn’t an option.

Katsumi doesn’t tell Sakuya any of this, of course, and watches as he scrambles to go get a rag from the bathroom. The bathroom is right next to their room, so she doesn’t have any problem with him going out of her line of sight. Blood fills her mouth again and she has to hide a grimace. Broken noses are the worst, she thinks with little amusement.

“Here you go, Mou-mou!” Sakuya shoves a rag into her hand and piles ice in it. She gives him a grateful smile and gently puts it on her nose.

“Luckily we don’t have to go to school tomorrow,” Sakuya jokes, clearly trying to lighten the mood, and she chuckles.

“That’s true,” she says, and adjusts her grip on the ice. It’s nice against her nose, but she doubts that she’ll be able to have a straight nose after this. She hopes her soulmate will able to look past the crooked nose. “My only problem is that they’ll probably be here tomorrow too.”

Sakuya sighs explosively, leaning back until he’s on his back, arms and legs spread out like a starfish. “Are they really our parents?” he asks the ceiling. “I’ve asked the other kids in my class about if their parents disappear for years and they said no.” He sounds irritated, petulant, and she smiles. She asked that exact same question when she was six.

“I’m sure,” she says, wry. “I was there when you were born.” Sakuya makes a grossed out face at that. “Oh, did you finally learn how that happens?”

“There was a book in the library,” he grumbles. “It was disgusting.”

“I’m sure,” Katsumi says, a hint of laughter in her tone, and shifts so she’s sitting crossed legged. “I know how it happens because _I was there.”_

“Ew!” Sakuya sits up just so he can look in the eyes and make a face.

“It was,” she replies sagely, nodding. “It was indeed ew.”

“You’re so weird,” Sakuya tells her, utterly serious, and she puts a hand on his face, pushing him back until he falls down again with a yelp.

(She shows up to school with bandaged ribs and a crooked nose. Nobody dares say anything to her when Sakuya comes with her, stubborn and fierce. He's already punched a kid in the face for saying something bad about her and is still utterly unrepentant.)

 

\--

 

They stay. They stay, and every day Katsumi and Sakuya come home to shouting, to a mess. They come home to screaming, to their safe haven being trashed. Sakuya develops the habit of staying close to Katsumi, calling her Katsu-nee in front of their parents as a minor rebellion. Katsumi encourages it, with the rule that he doesn’t anger Father or Mother enough to make then actually hit him. Subtle defiances are fine, but outright disobedience is not.

 _Leave that to me,_  she says, calm, but she’s really only trying to save her brother from the pain of a beating. She hits her teen years when Sakuya is seven and suddenly finds herself butting heads with anyone who so much as looks at her wrong. It’s annoying, especially when she finds herself in screaming matches with her parents and Mother throws a glass bottle at her head and it actually makes contact, but it keeps the attention away from Sakuya.

“Mou-Mou,” Sakuya says one day in the park, feet dragging in the mulch. Besides their parents, he’s the only one who references her old name. At school, she’s gained a reputation of someone with a spine of steel, of cold eyes and hard fists. Nobody dares to call her Moufida. She hates her reputation, but she has to admit that it’s useful for something.

“Yes?” she says, her hair smooth against her arm. It’s grown even longer - down to her waist. Any longer and it will be down to the back of her legs. “What is it?’

“Why do you pick fights with them every day?” He bites his lip, grip tightening on the chains. “I mean, they’re so mean. So why -” He breaks himself off, staring at the ground unhappily.

Katsumi’s heart aches. She knows he hates it when she gets hurt, knows that he despises it when she comes into their room, eye puffy and black, favoring one leg. But she can’t help it. She refuses to lie, to conform to social niceties because her family is only good for lying. She wants is to be worth something more than a decent liar. She speaks her mind and, more often than not, offends someone.

“I just - I get so irritated,” she says, and it’s truth, but not the whole truth. She’s hated her parents as long as she can remember, and this simply gives her a reason to yell back at them, to say all of the things she’s been bottling up for thirteen years. “I yell because of it and that makes them mad, which only makes me more angry.” She gives a helpless shrug. “I can’t help it.”

“Well, maybe you should,” he says, and gets up. “Let’s go home.”

Katsumi wouldn’t call that place her home anymore, not with their parents there, but she gets up too, grabbing her bag and thinking over what Sakuya told her.

She would do anything for her brother. Anything and everything, and if he wants her stop fighting their parents, to lay down and stay quiet, then she will. Or, she’ll try anyways.

They walk home in silence, Katsumi deep in thought and Sakuya more tired than anything. They’d had gym that day, and everyone had decided to gang up on him, or so he told her. She’s debated teaching him how to fight in the past - she learned on the streets at night, with forceful experience while she tried to get money for them - but ultimately decided against it. They don’t have the space, and she doesn’t want him to fight. That’s her responsibility, and her brother hasn’t had the broken skin on his knuckles, the inner fire inside him. Katsumi’s nurtured her’s, made it a supernova, but she never wanted that. She isn’t a fighter, really. She got beat up more often than she won on the streets, back when she was ten. She’d much rather talk it out, but that isn’t really an option most of the time.

She sighs, resting her hand on her brother’s head. He blinks, looking up at her. “Sakuya, you know that I love you?” she asks, and he rolls his eyes.

“Of course I do!” he exclaims as they enter their apartment building, Katsumi holding the door open for him. “You love me more than anything else in the world!”

“That I do,” she chuckles, tugging on his curl. “That I do.” Her soulmate must love him too. How could they not? Sakuya is a little boy who means the world to her. He’s honest and adorable and completely faithful to those who earn it. Who wouldn’t love him? “So that means that I’ll try to stop fighting our parents.”

“Really?” His face lights up. “You’ll stop?”

“Hey, I said try.” She gives his head a small push, just enough that it will bend forward a bit. “That doesn’t mean I’ll succeed all the time.”

“But you’ll be _trying,_ Mou-Mou!” Sakuya says enthusiastically. “Which means that you _will._ Because when you try, you always do it!”

Katsumi hides her wince. She doesn’t, is the thing. that he doesn’t know. She’s tried so hard since she was six to make Sakuya’s life just a bit better, and she doesn’t always do it. She wasn’t able to. She didn’t have the knowledge she does now, the maturity and the emotional strength She’s sure she’ll think the same thing four years in the future. Sakuya doesn’t know this. He just knows that she’s always provided for him, said she would do something within her ability and then she did it. He’s never had any reason to doubt her. If she said she would get him pancakes, she would get him pancakes. If she promised Father wouldn’t touch him tonight, Father wouldn’t.

He doesn’t know of a promise that’s over five years old, made by a child with parents that terrified her. He doesn’t know of a vow given to him when he was only minutes old, doesn’t know that she whispered it in his ear.

He doesn’t know that she made an oath to herself to protect him.

He doesn’t know that she’s broken it far too many times to count.

“I don't know about that,” she says instead, scratching her cheek. “I’m only twelve, Sakuya. There’s plenty I can’t do.”

“Well, yeah.” He blinks at her, bewildered. “But you never say you’ll do something that you can’t do. That’s why you’re the bestest sister!”

Katsumi grins down at him, reaching up to tug at her ponytail. “Love you too.”

“You’re awe -”

Their door slams open just as they reach their floor, and Father marches out, better dressed than he has been in ages. Katsumi crowds Sakuya behind her as they walk forward, heads bowed and eyes to the floor. Don’t let him stop us, she pleads. Please, please don’t let him stop us.

Mother stumbles after him, a small glass in one hand and her purse in the other. Katsumi can smell the alcohol from here. “Shima” she drawls, eyes hooded and face caked with makeup. “Shima, look. They’re back.”

“I can see that, Yuki,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “What took you all so long?”

Katsumi prays for strength as she clears her throat. “We were at the park,” she says evenly. “We did our homework and then played.”

Father grunts. “Aren’t you getting a bit old for that?”

Anger rushes through her veins, and she opens her mouth to retort when Sakuya brushes up against her. She closes her mouth, breathes in, out, and smiles thinly. “I’m afraid not,” she says, faintly dry. “Besides, Sakuya is six. He likes to play.”

“Yes, yes.” He waves a hand - the same hand that caused the sickly green bruises on her neck - dismissively. “ Your mother and I will be gone for the next few months -” Next few months means they’ll miss Sakuya’s birthday, Katsumi realises, and can’t make herself feel anything but relieved. “ - so you will be on your own.”

“Okay,” she says, and shuffles to the door they left open. Mother is talking too loud like always, and she can still hear her voice when the door closes. Sakuya runs past her, throws his bag on the ground, and hurdles himself onto the couch. Katsumi laughs, going over to pick his bag up and put it away. A small paper floats out of it, and he scrambles to his feet, trying to snatch it out of the air.

Katsumi does it first, plucking it up and holding it out of his reach as she looks at it.

“Mou-Mou,” he whines, face red. She smiles down at him.

“Why are you so embarrassed? I think it’s lovely.”

And indeed it is. It’s a crude family drawing, of Sakuya in the middle, Katsumi on the other, and another person with brown hair and the bottom half of a dress on it. Abov them, it says _My family._ Katsumi can only assume that the other person is her soulmate, which explains the hair and the uncertain gender.

“I wanted to show you at dinner!” Sakuya huffs, stamping a foot like an angry bull.

Katsumi giggles, petting his hair. His curl bounces up, like always, and he puffs out his cheeks. “It’s okay,” she says kindly as she shrugs off her coat.  It’s the beginning of March, and Sakuya’s birthday is next month - the second, to be exact. Katsumi never remembers her own birthday, too caught up in the whirlwind of her life. “I love it. I’ll put it on the wall in our room.”

His face darkens in hue as his hands flutter in the air. “Mou-Mou,” he says, and it’s high pitched with embarrassment. She grins mischievously, whisking it away to their room. He hurries after her, sputtering and feet pounding against the floor, yelling her name all the while. She manages to close the door behind her before he catches up to her, and pins it to the wall, putting her hands on her hips and grinning when he slams into the room.

“Look at that,” she chirps happily. “It fits right in with your other drawings!”

He punches her leg and stalks out of the room, leaving her to jump around on her right foot, muttering ow all the while.

“Sakuya!” she wails after him. “Sakuya, why? I thought you loved me!”

“I lied!” he calls back. She laughs, bright and clear. “Don’t laugh!”

“You can’t stop me if you want me to make dinner,” Katsumi sings as she waltzes out of their room and heads to the kitchen. “Let me laugh at your misery, little brother.”

“You’re terrible,” he tells her, face distinctly unimpressed.

She grins back as she pulls out some meat. “I know.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me. Now cut up some green onions.”

 

\--

 

March passes like the breeze, White Day coming and going. Katsumi gets a couple chocolates from boys she gave some to out of the kindness of her heart, and Sakuya gives some to a couple girls in his class. Nothing exciting happens, really, and they both don’t see the need for all the fuss.

“Sometimes,” Sakuya says solemnly the day after, “people are just _weird.”_

“Yep,” she agrees. “They are.”

It’s April the first, now, and she’s in the store while Sakuya is at a friend’s house for the afternoon, looking for a cake. Normally, they wouldn’t be able to afford a cake, but they have a little bit of extra money left over from last month, and Sakuya is turning _eight._ He deserves a cake, one last good memory before their parents come home. They’d sent a letter a few days before, saying that something has gone wrong and they’re coming home within the next week. She has a bad feeling about that, especially since they never give a warning about when they’re dropping back into their lives.

But the way they phrased it troubles her.

 _We don’t want to see any injuries on either of you,_ Father had wrote, and Katsumi doesn’t know what that means. They both rarely ever have injuries when their parents aren’t home. Father and Mother are planning something, but Katsumi doesn’t know what. She isn’t she wants to know, either.

“Miss? What do you want on the cake?”

The attendant’s voice snaps her out of her thoughts, and she smiles apologetically, clearing her throat. “Happy birthday, Sakkun,” she says, a hint of amusement in her voice. Her brother has been quietly insisting she call him that, and who is she to refuse him?

A flash of spring green catches her eye, and she turns, Sakuya’s name already on her lips before it dies.

A man is looking down at her, his eyes the exact color of her brother’s hair, and his hair the precise shade of her brother’s eyes. She takes a step back, swallowing around the ball in her throat. Her brother’s soulmate is an adult. They could have a platonic relationship, she thinks, a bit desperately. That must be it.

“Oh.” He blinks. “Your eyes aren’t my color.” He sounds disappointed as he raises his yode to his mouth. “I was so sure, though.”

Katsumi coughs into her palm to grab his attention. “I think you may be mistaking me for my brother,” she says, inclining her head. “He’s seven, about to turn eight. His eyes are black.”

The man’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Really.” She smiles at him, a mere upturn of the lips. “His name is Sakuya.”

He bows, his haori billowing around his shoulders as he does so. “My name is Tsubaki,” he says, and he doesn’t offer a last name.

Katsumi doesn’t judge, mainly because she plans to do the same. “Katsumi,” she replies, and bows like him. “Maybe we can meet up sometime? So you can meet my brother. Beware, though.” She gives him a smile sharp enough to cut, thinks she can taste the blood on her lips. “I can and will kick your ass if you so much as hurt a hair on his head.”

Tsubaki laughs, startled and long. “Believe me, Katsumi-san,” he says with a gentle smile. “I would never do such a thing.”

Something about him is making her hair stand on end, but that may be because his laugh went on a second too long before it was crushed. “I’m sure,” she replies, not unkindly. “But I had to make sure. Would you mind giving me your home phone or address?”

“Oh!” He nods, rummaging through the bag at his side, pulling out a small strip of paper. “Here’s my address. Just send me a letter and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay.” She puts it in her own bag, turning to pay for the cake. “Do you want to come to my brother’s birthday tomorrow -”

When she turns around again, the man is gone, a slight breeze the only indication that he was there. Something is twisting in her gut, something telling her something is not right. Something is off about that man, but she just can’t put her finger on it. Maybe he’s involved with something like her parents, maybe he’s just more fit with than other people, but -

But something is _off._ His teeth were sharp, his skin blemish free. Something is off, and she doesn’t know what.

She has his address, though. If he does anything, she knows where to find him.

Nodding, she turns to pay again, cake in hand. She has to hurry, otherwise her brother will get home before her, and she doesn’t particularly want that.

(Tsubaki sits in the rafters, legs dangling as he stares down at Katsumi, at the girl with his eye color but who is not his.

“Found you,” he whispers, the build up of eight years of searching and looking and hoping in his voice. “Found you.)

 

\--

 

Katsumi wakes up bright and early the next day, Sakuya passed out on the floor next to her. She squints down at him, sleep making her eyelids heavy, before deciding that he must’ve fallen off in the middle of the night. It has happened before, she thinks, and slips out of bed. She made sure to buy ingredient for his favorite food when she went shopping this month, and this is the day they come into use.

She’s making okonomiyaki for dinner, along with an egg sandwich for breakfast. She’d found the recipe in an american cookbook a few years ago, and Sakuya _adored_ it, so she wrote it down. By now, she likes to think she’s an expert at making it - she hasn’t messed up an egg in months.

Katsumi pulls the tomato and eggs out of the fridge, grabbing a knife and the cutting board, turning on the stove as she passes it. She hums as she starts cutting a tomato, thinking. She may have heard someone closing the door at about two, but that could have just been someone across the hall. Some of their neighbors worked late and were loud.

She sets the tomato aside, grabs a pan, and puts it on the stove, cracking an egg onto it. Sakuya likes the yolk liquidy, so she’ll have to watch it. It is his birthday after all.

It could have been their parents, she muses. But they did say they would be here next week -

“So we’ll do it tonight?”

Katsumi freezes, one finger holding down the toaster button. They’re back, she thinks, a bit wild, and sneaks around the corner, pressing close against the wall.

“Yes. The insurance money would be enough for ten years,” replies her father, sitting on the couch. His face is cold, made of stone, and his eyes are flinty.

What are they planning? It has to do with money, like always, but she thinks this is bigger than anything they’ve ever done before. More severe, more permanent, and she doesn’t know what to think when they look over at the balcony, clearly contemplating. Mother’s eyes are the clearest Katsumi’s ever seen them, the months when she was pregnant with Sakuya aside, and they’re sharp, clever.

“Which one?” she asks, and Father stands, walking over to the kitchen and grabbing her arm. Katsumi yelps as she’s dragged from her hiding place, trembles before her mother as Father keeps a hand on her head to keep her looking forward. His grip on her arm hurts, feels like it’s bruising, but Katsumi didn’t survive to fourteen by being cowed. She yanks her arm out of his hand, glaring at her mother.

“This one,” Father says, and Mother grins.

“I see, I see.” She tilts Katsumi’s head this way and that, examining her from side to side. She glances up at her husband. “Are you certain we will get away with this?”

“Positive.”

“Get away with _what?”_ Katsumi yells, clenching her fists. “If you’re going to hurt Sakuya, I swear I will -”

“No, no,” Mother soothes, running a hand over her hair. “No, you’ll be the one jumping off the balcony. Otherwise Sakuya will be the one doing it.”

Katsumi feels everything freeze. They won’t hurt Sakuya, but -

She’ll have to commit suicide to keep her brother safe.

“What is wrong with you?” she breathes, seeing only greed in her mother’s eyes. “Why would you do this to your child?”

“Honey.” Mother clicks her tongue. “We need the money.”

Katsumi opens her mouth to say more - and she doesn’t know what she will say, because what can one say to this - and Sakuya’s voice reaches her.

“Mou-Mou?” He sounds scared as his eyes dart between all three of them, and Katsumi smiles at him automatically. “What’s going on?”

He didn’t hear their plan. Katsumi tries not to slump in relief. “Nothing,” he assures with a smile. “Why don’t you go clear off the table.”

He nods, keeping aware of their parents, and carefully walks away.

She’s going to have to hurt her brother to protect him, she thinks, and shuts her eyes, feeling sick.

“I’ll do it,” she whispers, and she can feel their glee.

 

\--

 

“Everything will be fine,” Katsumi says later that day, hands tight on the chains of her swing. “Just stay in our room and don’t come out. I will be okay.” The words taste like ash on her tongue, her stomach is rolling, and she doesn’t dare look at her brother.

“Okay,” Sakuya says with a nod. He trusts her completely, trusts her so much, and she’s about to break it.

For Sakuya, she says to herself, and doesn’t let herself shake.

 

\--

 

“Don’t hurt Sakuya,” she says, a last, desperate attempt at an order. “Promise me you won’t hurt him.”

“We won’t,” Mother says, and Katsumi already knows it’s a promise broken, but she steps lightly onto the railing anyway.

“For Sakuya,” she says, and it’s a prayer and an excuse all in one. For Sakuya.

She steps off, and the last thing she hears is her brother’s scream.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always loved and brighten up my day and are saved in my Gmail.
> 
> Also! Here's my [Tumblr.](http://nikescaret.tumblr.com) Come visit and chat with me if you want!


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